


Cracklin' Like Crossed Wires

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Cracklin' Like Crossed Wires [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Pregnancy, Romance, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: 100-2.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-06
Updated: 2011-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-17 16:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Change is tricky, and <i>big</i> changes are scary as hell.  But maybe Jo and John can get this right.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Cracklin' Like Crossed Wires

Jo hadn't thought it was possible for John to be more protective. When they first started hunting together, his every spare thought seemed to be spent worrying that he was going to get her killed. When they bulldozed across the line between colleagues and _more_ , his worry-minded instincts ratcheted up to new levels of overprotectiveness. It was months after that before they rediscovered their equilibrium, and longer still before he let her take point on a hunt again.

But Jo thought they were finally maxed out—nowhere for John to go but along the slow road of easing the hell back.

She knows better now.

"Look," she says, glaring exasperatedly across the diner table. "I already promised I would back off on hunting and cover more of the research instead. I am _not_ letting you take me completely out of rotation." John is wearing his most unreasonable stubborn face, lips pressed into a thin line and brow drawn tight and ominous

"It's not safe in your condition," John points out, like it's the most reasonable thing in the world. Like Jo is the one being irrational.

"You don't think _anything_ is safe in 'my condition'," Jo snaps. "If you had your way I wouldn't even be cutting my own food. Newsflash, John. I'm pregnant, not dying."

"I won't let you put yourself in harm's way," he insists darkly.

"You won't _let_ me?" Jo echoes incredulously. "John, this whole goddamn _life_ is in harm's way. And I'm not letting you get hurt or arrested or, fuck, _killed_ , just because you don't want me driving the getaway car."

"If anything _does_ happen to me, I need to know you're safe," he says. The words only rile Jo up harder, and she feels her slim patience fraying.

"We're supposed to be a team," she says softly, angry and dangerous.

"That's different," says John. "That's got nothing to do with keeping you safe."

Jo nods, silent and fuming, and sets her napkin aside. She can imagine John's eyes widening in surprise as she stands and turns her back—as she strides towards the exit with quick, purposeful steps.

She doesn't stop once she's outside. It feels too crowded here, on this busy sidewalk right on main street. The town is small, but she's standing in the closest thing the little community has to a downtown. There are people everywhere, and she doesn't want to be near them.

She picks a direction to walk, away from the motel that's just down the street to the east. Her feet carry her with aimless purpose, and each step makes her feel a little calmer—a little more centered and a little less incapacitated with rage.

The air is too chilly to be comfortable, and she realizes after half a block that she walked out of the diner without her coat. Too late now, and she doesn't need it _that_ badly. The sun is piercingly bright in the sky above, noon-time high, and she can handle a little shivering.

The air only gets chillier as she walks, and when she finally hits the crest of a hill she figures out why. The sidewalk ends, and there's a lake just ahead—wide and sprawling, visible through some trees that the late fall weather has left leafless. The hill slopes steeply downward, broken by the well-trod dirt of a footpath. A low brick wall runs along the edge of the water below.

Jo isn't surprised when her feet carry her off the sidewalk and down the grassy length of the hill.

She stops at the wall, crossing her arms and staring out across the barely rippling surface of the water. The far shore is littered with large, expensive houses and wooden docks, and the view makes Jo want to roll her eyes and mutter a disparaging comment.

But there's no one to share her judgmental observations with. It's just Jo, shivering and crossing her arms against the cold, wishing she could talk sense into the man she left in that stupid diner.

"What the hell are you supposed to do with a six car garage, anyway?" comes John's heavy, graveled voice from behind her. Jo startles internally at the question, but doesn't so much as twitch to show her surprise. She's used to John sneaking up on her.

She can't decide if she hears a hint of apology in his voice.

"Park their five cars and two motorcycles?" she guesses, crossing her arms tighter.

"Here," says John, stepping close enough to touch and dropping her coat over her shoulders. "You forgot this."

They stand in awkward silence for long moments, and even as Jo keeps her eyes trained on the lake and the shoreline beyond, she feels John's eyes drilling into her from behind. There won't be any express apology coming, she knows that. She's spent years dealing with John's impossible stubbornness, and she knows he's not going to admit to being in the wrong on this one. Hell, she's not sure he _is_ in the wrong. She just knows she feels stifled and angry. She's sick of being treated like a fragile, helpless princess.

"I haven't done this in about twenty-five years," John says softly. "And last time around I didn't know monsters were real."

"I know I have to be more careful now," Jo whispers, trusting that her voice will carry. "But I can't start living like a coward just because I've got someone else to look out for, and I sure as hell can't just stand back and watch while you keep running full speed ahead. There has to be a middle ground." Her eyes start to water, and she's glad she has her back to John. It's a silly thing to be embarrassed about, but she still feels her cheeks heating with shame at the thought of crying in front of him.

John obviously knows better than to offer empty reassurances, and Jo waits out the silence—tilting her head back and raising her eyes to the sky, stubbornly blinking away the tears.

"Hey," says John, and suddenly he's there, pressed close and warm against her back and wrapping his arms around her. His presence wards off the chill and makes her shiver for entirely different reasons—Jo doesn't think she'll ever get tired of the effect John Winchester has on her. "You know I'm not going anywhere."

"I don't know any such thing," she says. Her body holds its anxious tension for another few seconds, but she finally crumbles, leaning into the reassuring warmth of his body and letting her head drop to his shoulder. "John, I can't do this without you."

He falls silent again for long moments, dark and pensive, and Jo lets her eyes drift shut. Waiting for something. Or just avoiding reality for a few minutes, focusing instead on the safe contentment that comes from standing in the circle of John's arms.

"Okay," says John, and Jo blinks her eyes open in surprise.

"Huh?" she says.

John's arms around her shift to hold her even closer, and he lets one hand drift lower to cover her stomach—lets it rest there like a secret. Jo's not showing yet, not really, but she can feel the difference. She can see it in the mirror when she looks long and hard. And as familiar as John is with her body, she knows he must be able to feel it when he touches her—the way he's touching her now, the soft heat of his hand anchoring her to this moment.

"Okay," he repeats. "You won't have to do this without me." His voice is almost a whisper, and Jo barely hears it when he adds, "I promise."

She shifts in his arms, turning just enough to look at him, and she's surprised to discover that she's not the only one with tears in her eyes. They're not going to fall, she knows. One thing she's learned in the last couple years is that John Winchester doesn't cry. His eyes will get red and watery if you hit the right buttons—she knows from painful experience—but those tears will never fall.

He's looking at her with wet eyes now, soft and worried, with a buried hint of guilt. The promise isn't idle, which means…

Jo doesn't really know _what_ it means, but it's big. It's an offer of compromise, or maybe an all-out surrender, even if the terms haven't been negotiated yet.

It's a promise, and Jo's chest feels suddenly tight with how much she loves this man.

"Thank you," she whispers, and pulls him into a kiss.


End file.
